


Unfortunately,

by yakitsukeru



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Kokichi dies a lot, M/M, Saihara gets PRANKED, Suicide, This is just from a bunch of angst prompts, sorry about this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-26 09:15:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14997659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yakitsukeru/pseuds/yakitsukeru
Summary: A collection of angst prompts with SaiOuma.





	Unfortunately,

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: 
> 
> Person A loves to prank Person B. Person B is so used to it that they are unfazed when they see Person A hanging from the ceiling with an abdomen wound and knife on the floor. What's Person B’s reaction when Person A has no pulse?
> 
> Created by my friend Nagiho. ^

“Answer your phone...” I grumbled with annoyance, my hand shaking from the force of the grocery bags weighing down on it as I tried calling him again. No answer. “Kokichi, you send me out on a grocery run and you can’t even help bring it in?” I said, louder as I faced the door in front of me that held a painfully harsh reality behind it.

 

It was a while ago, when I first met Kokichi Ouma. First, he seemed cold and distant, maybe even evil. But as the years passed, I grew used to his shenanigans. I had to get used to them, especially when we started dating. In all honesty, I didn’t hate them. The pranks he would pull, ranging from simple harmless ones like taping a doorway with tape as I chased him so that my face would get stuck, or ones where he’d literally pie my face. Like a clown. Only recently was I met with more morbid pranks, where he’d scare me with a faux knife or he’s pretend to be dead. Commands like “investigate me, Mister Detective!” would only verify that it was indeed false.

 

However, when I struggled to open the door with my hands that were being dragged down from the weight of the groceries, I felt a sense of dread. Some sort of dread only a detective can feel. Intuition. I eventually won the fight with the doorknob and was greeted by an odor. “Kokichi, what the hell is this...?” I asked, putting the groceries down as I scanned the room.

 

Scanning the room seemed impossible, futile even. All the windows were shut tight, blinds closed and curtains drawn to keep out any light. The only source of light that illuminated the blood at my feet was the door from which I entered. Turning on the entrance light and following the footsteps with the burden that is fear, I was met with a grizzly sight.

 

Kokichi Ouma, abdomen soaked in blood, hanging off of the ground with a chair beneath him, his feet barely touching it. Barely touching it... so it was a prank. The knife caked in dry blood shined a bit more than a normal one, more than I’d like to admit. “Kokichi, this is...this is horrible!” I exclaimed, using the chair for support (and nearly slipping) to undo the noose. But the moment my hand touched his cold flesh I noticed this wasn’t a prank.


End file.
